


This is for the first (and only and last)

by Bamf_babe



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, BAMF Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, F/M, No beta we die like stregobor should have, POV Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Yennefer Needs Love, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:21:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25554253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bamf_babe/pseuds/Bamf_babe
Summary: Geralt was looking up at the stars. Yennefer stood beside him, patient.“What do you see?” She asked at last.“I see stories.” Geralt said, “My mother used to tell me that each star held the soul of a hero. She would tell me the stories of these heroes. I always aspired to be a knight. A true hero.”“Do you believe you have lived up to those aspirations.”Geralt gave a wry chuckle, barely there, hardly humorous, “I doubt it.”...The 5 Times Geralt Leaves + The 1 Time He Stays
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 8
Kudos: 108
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #005





	This is for the first (and only and last)

## 1\. 

When Yennefer wakes up in the wreckage of the mayor’s house in Rinde, she is alone. This is not surprising. Her encounter with the Witcher had been brief and rapid, hands pushing and pulling with little concern. They had been full of the thrill of remaining alive, the thrill of the breath in their lungs and they had wanted to share that passion together. 

There was no expectation of staying, no commitment. Geralt had left so quickly that Yennefer hadn’t an inkling of his departure. This was perfectly fine with her.

Yennefer does not require transparency in her partners. She’s certainly been with enough shady characters that an expectation of honesty is almost a laughable concept. Leaving the Brotherhood is a death sentence for most. Mages after leaving are either unable to find work or chased down by the respective courts they leave behind. Needless to say, being a mage on the run is not an attractive prospect as Yennefer soon found out after leaving Aridea. 

Vengerberg was her first home but it would most certainly not be her last and the capital city of Aridea had a long memory. Since she had served the throne for multiple generations that was plenty of time to collect blackmail material on the crown. After he escaped, the King was terrified that she would use that information to her advantage and sell Aridea out to their enemies so he had sent a contingent after her. Nevermind that she simply wanted to live out her life in peace, away from court politics. 

The next year was spent running from Aridea’s soldiers and Yennefer was not ashamed to admit that she grew tired. It was exhausting, living life on the run, having to constantly use a fake name and wear another identity like a cloak around her skin. It felt constricting and the entire reason she had left the court was to be free. The counterproductive nature of her situation was not lost on her. 

This was why, a year into this hunt, The King of Aridea found a tired and pissed off mage portaling into his throne room. 

Yennefer assured him of her loyalty to the crown of Aridea. She had betrayed no secrets nor was she planning to. Unless that is, the King continued to hound her every step with his fucking dogs. 

Her threat was beyond clear and the King called his men off and Yennefer was left free to roam. Of course, this left the second issue of leaving the brotherhood all too clear. No one trusted an unattached mage. Normally, the only mages who were not in courts were the kinds of mages who practice magic brutal or bloody enough that it couldn’t be exposed in the public eye. Necromancers, soul-stealers, and pathokinesis. Manipulation was all well and good if done in secret but put a mage out in the open and it was like watching a fish walk. It simply wasn’t right. 

Yennefer would walk into a town and once she announced herself as a mage they would turn her away, calling her a manipulative snake, a lying, treacherous bastard. It was true of course. Her being a bastard. It wasn’t as if her parents had been married. However, that gave no excuse for the abuse she received in every town. She was outcast, unwanted, undesired. 

It reminded her far too much of her childhood and she wished more than anything to leave that part of her life behind but no matter where she ran it was as though people could see beneath her skin into the bent and misshapen girl below. Piggy. 

Her skin didn’t feel like her own. It felt as though it had been corrupted by outside hands, twisted and pulled and shaped like kneaded dough until it resembled what people wanted to see, what people needed to see. Yennefer had built herself from the ground up, forged herself in flame and sacrificed a future in order to win the hearts of mortals. It hadn’t worked. 

There was a myth of a phoenix. When it became old and weak, it would burst into flames, casting its old body behind, leaving only fire and dust behind. Then out of its own ashes a new body would rise, young and beautiful once more. She was supposed to be the phoenix but instead, she felt as though she had risen from the ashes only to be confronted with the same body as before. 

What had really changed? Certainly, she was more appealing on the outside but the inside was still the same. People could still see the ugliness inside her and it burned. 

This meant that all along it hadn’t mattered whether she had been beautiful or good at magic but that people hated her because there was something intrinsically wrong about her being and it made her want to tear her skin right off. 

Yennefer wanted to peel away the layers of flesh and reveal the horrible, messy monster underneath and wave her beautiful skin in the air above her like a flag of war screaming, “Come and take it!”

No one will ever be satisfied with who she is. Nothing will ever be good enough. She is not worth it. 

So she stops trying to appeal to people’s better natures. Yennefer stops trying to be the ‘good witch’ of the town. Instead, she goes to the nearest tavern and sits at a table. She skims the thoughts floating at the top of people’s minds and draws them to her. With a hand on the table and the other resting under her chin, she listens. Yennefer knows all too well the woes, aches, and pain people carry. She offers to grant their boons. For a price. People will never trust anything free. 

It feels dishonest to ask for their future so she takes their pasts. She asks for heirlooms, money, and room and board. Nothing that would ruin them but things they hold dear. Magic works best with belief and nothing helps fuel belief like the idea of a worthy sacrifice. 

A candle eats a precious family portrait in exchange for seeds that will last through the coming drought. A man desires a fertility potion and trades some of his own passion. These are all simple spells but powerful ones nonetheless. 

While this won’t exactly save anyone’s lives or help them overcome their worst fears, it does help people in small ways. She can take heart in this and often does. Yennefer doesn’t trick into thinking she’s a hero but recently she has stopped thinking of herself as a villain. 

Well, that is, until Beltane. What a festival that was. She had invited people to an orgy at the mayor’s house. Festival goers from around town appeared for the event. What they didn’t know was that the second they entered the door, there was a curse placed on the threshold that lowered their inhibitions terribly. Luckily it could be dispelled with a simple word but well, orgies were no fun when people were dancing around the fact that they simply wanted to fuck. 

When a Witcher had come barreling into her little party, carrying a man coughing up blood, well, it had been unexpected to say the least. It was fortuitous that he brought with him the amphora of the djinn. Yennefer had first been drawn to Rinde with rumors of a Djinn and now the occasion had practically fallen into her lap. 

It was too bad that the entire situation fucked her over like the mayor of goddamn Rinde. 

She should have seen it. The bard had no magic, no traces of connection to the Djinn. It had been with the WItcher, Geralt all along. Yennefer had leaped before looking and had paid the price. 

As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Geralt had saved her life that day. If he hadn’t been there to speak into power his final wish, to dissipate the Djinn’s magic, well, who knows what would have happened to her. Magical overload most likely. 

Now, reminiscing the night in the wreckage of Rinde, Yennefer wondered what exactly Geralt had wished for. She hadn’t seen any effects immediately. Perhaps it was a more vague wish for good health or some stuff ideas. Hopefully it wasn't that, Djinn wishes grew less powerful over time if they were more abstract. They were not meant to last forever. Ah well, Geralt would find out soon enough when whatever he had so-vaguely wished for began to lose power. It was the wisest to wish for physical things that didn’t change.

That was why she had hoped to...no matter. She couldn’t dwell on another lost opportunity just yet. Yennefer waved her hand and clothes appeared on her body. She supposed she was lucky no one had come investigating yet. It was time to leave Rinde. The only question was, where to next?

## 2\. 

Yennefer slammed Geralt against the wall, relishing in his grunt as he hit the wood. They kissed, fast and hard, teeth biting into lips and hot breath on her neck. She rubbed herself onto him, feeling his cock twitch beneath her. She decided they were both wearing entirely too many clothes and leaned back to undo the clasps on her dress. 

Geralt quickly began unlacing his own pants. There was a sense of urgency, of fight to the whole affair. It was always like this. The two of them had met half a dozen times since Beauclair and most of them ended this way, sweating, gasping, and oh so alive. 

They moved to the bed, Yennefer straddling Geralt with her legs on either side of his hips. He moved his hand slowly up her thigh and then grabbed her hip hard, pulling her naked body closer to his own. She tilted her head back and grabbed his shoulder. Then, he was spinning her, shifting their positions so now she was lying on the bed. 

He slid a finger inside of her, and she panted. Yennefer rapidly relaxed, feeling calmer and collected then Geralt added another finger, then another. Her hips moved in a circular motion, moving down on his fingers. He then moved down, licking at her clit, moving quickly and without hesitation. Yennefer pulled away for a moment, allowing him to take a breath before coming back to her clit.

He licked at her as he pressed into her heat, pushing up and curling against her. She moaned. She was so close.

He continued this. Licking at her, fucking her with his fingers, and letting her hips stutter against his face. Her hands went to his hair. She grabbed a handful of it and pulled. Geralt gasped. She pulled hard and he let out a moan of ecstasy from against her clit. 

After thirty more seconds of this, he tried a fourth finger inside of her. She cried out. He curled them. She gasped. He flicked her clit. She keened. 

He pulled his mouth away, jaw tense. He tried to relax his muscles while he finger-fucked her. She was pulling at her tits again, eyes closed, hair a mess. She moved her hands to her breasts, rubbing her hands against her nipples. Geralt moved away for a moment to change positions, moving his hips against hers. 

He moved his hands to her breasts, rubbing just one finger over one of her nipples. Yennefer let out a moan. 

“Let me take care of this,” he said, and then his cock was pushing up against her entrance, his breath hot on her neck. He was laying kisses down the side of her neck and thrusting into her. One hand was holding her upright just enough while the other was running his thumb over her right nipple, over and over and over again. 

Mouth still attached to her neck, he slid his arms around her back and cushioned where her skin had been pressed against the bed. He tilted his hips against her again, and she groaned. Suddenly she was gasping, squeaking, curling her fingers in his hair, and holding him tight inside of her. Her thighs clamped down around him, and he just let go, thrusting deep into her and coming while her walls fluttered and squeezed and throbbed.

They fell apart, gasping for breath. 

“Better?” Geralt said with a smirk referencing their last encounter which had taken place in a stream. 

Geralt was a fan of beds. Yennefer was a fan of convenience. She rolled over on the bed, magicking away the fluids. 

“I suppose so,” she said at last. 

She brought some of the blankets up around her waist and looked over at Geralt. He was already getting dressed once again. It was always like this, with the two of them. He would always leave eventually. He couldn’t stay. They couldn’t stay together. Sometimes, after nights like these there would be an odd sense of guilt lingering in his eyes, a sense that something wasn’t quite right that there was more to encounter than she ever knew. It burned at Yennefer and she hoped that one day he would tell her what tore at him so. 

##    
  
  


## 3\. 

Yennefer arrived in Beauclair to find a procession walking towards the center of town. People were cheering and shouting, putting together hastily made flower crowns and braiding each other’s hair. 

“It’s happening!” a girl cried as she ran past Yennefer. 

The girl was wearing white. In fact, as Yennefer looked around she noticed everyone was wearing white. There were colorful flowers strewn around the town and ribbons of yellow, pink, blue, and green tied to as many surfaces as possible. It looked as if the rustic town of Beauclair was attempting to hold a festival on the shortest notice festival. 

Yennefer had come to Beauclair because it was known for its flowers and as it was currently harvesting season there was no better time to pick the ingredients she needed. 

However, she was interested in whatever was making this commotion. But first, she changed into a white dress in order to better blend in and then began to follow the crowd towards whatever they were celebrating. There was a tangible taste of magic in the air and it almost felt like the beginning of a ritual. But for what? She wondered. 

She tried to listen to the crowd but only caught snippets of conversation.

“Can you believe it finally happened?”

“And an outsider no less!”

“We took care of the traveling companion.”

“Oh next year will be better than this. I can tell there’s a lot of power in this one.”

Just as Yennefer was beginning to form a clearer picture she felt a hand grab the back of her dress and drag her quickly away from a crowd and into an alleyway. 

She turned around and found herself face to face with the Bard of all things. He looked dirtier than when she had last seen him. He had on a fine silk doublet and matching green breeches but he had a massive bruise on his cheek and cuts on his face. There was dirt on his clothing and his lute was slung onto his back but he was panting, out of breath. What the fuck was he doing in Beauclair?

“What the fuck are you doing in Beauclair?” Yennefer asked the bard.

“What the fuck are you doing in Beauclair?” the bard asked her right back.

Yennefer felt her lip curl up, “Well supposing you dragged me into this alley I am not the one that requires explanation.”

The bard, damn it what was his name, sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

“There’s a bit of an issue.” He paused and searched her face, “with Geralt.”

Yennefer felt her eyes roll skyward. An issue with Geralt what kind of trouble could a Witcher get into? Far too much most likely. She hadn’t seen him since the incident in Rinde and while the night had been exciting he brought trouble in his wake. 

“Why should I care what happens to the Witcher?” Yennefer asked.

The bard paused, “I suppose I figured you might have some small inkling of affection, witch,” he spat out, “perhaps I was being far too generous of your nature. Considering he saved your life in Rinde, I supposed you might want to repay that favor.”

Of course, Yennefer had been going to investigate whatever was happening in this town the second she had arrived here and it seemed as though Geralt was in the center of it. But it was fun to string the bard along and watch him grow slowly more exasperated. 

“I might be able to help,” She said at last, “What happened?”

“So there was a contract posted here for a haunting, very vague, few details but we were passing through and Geralt didn’t see the harm in checking it out. He goes on ahead to see the location of the haunting, I stay back in the tavern to perform. When he doesn’t come back after a few hours I head towards the abandoned building to see if I can hear the sound of battle or the sound of Geralt slowly bleeding out. I hear neither which is terribly concerning-”

“Yes, yes, please hurry up,” Yennefer says, “I do not wish to be here all day.”

“Well, yes, um, then when I looked inside Geralt was encased in decidedly non-ghostly ropes and a group of villagers in white was around him, chanting. At first, he was struggling then he fell asleep. They loaded him into a glass coffin and brought him to the town square. Apparently I am the only outsider in Beauclair currently and they caught sight of me as I watched them bring the coffin to the town square. A couple of thugs were sent out after me but,” here the bard pulled out a dagger still covered in blood and Yennefer felt just a hint of respect for him, “I took care of it.”

“So, to summarize. Geralt took a contract with no background knowledge and got himself hit with a sleeping curse to be used in some kind of town-wide sacrificial ritual and you escaped long enough to find me. What exactly was your plan here?”

The bard rubbed the back of his neck, “If you hadn’t arrived I likely would have tried to distract the crowd and try and sneak the coffin out from under their noses. It has wheels on it.”

Yennefer’s thoughts were racing. She wouldn’t exactly risk her life for the Witcher but he deserved better than death via human sacrifice so she would help where she could. As her current disposal was a mage and a bard. They had plenty of skill sets that could be useful in this situation. Her more so than the bard. What they needed was a way to tear the villagers away from the coffin so she could perhaps portal away…

“A distraction you say?” Yennefer stated to the bard, a grin working its way onto her face.

The Bard stood in front of the crowd, a displeased smile on his face for a moment before it turned into a sunny look meant to draw in a crowd. He was wearing a dress with flowers sewn into the fabric in a kaleidoscope of colors. He was holding the lute and began strumming it while singing.

_“Hey, if you're a crazy village filled with flowery psychos! Then do I have just the song for you! I can’t believe you don’t take advantage of other-passer bys and how-to-dos. I wonder why all the weird theatrics, and I can’t help but be really unimpressed. I mean with the flowers it's important to have aesthetic, but really is this human sacrifice for the best?”_

The bard did not win any friends with his little insulting song and soon had a small mob of people after him and off her was running out of the square.

“Get him!” one cried.

“He’s interrupting the ritual!” cried another.

Yennefer began pushing the coffin off the dias as everyone was now preoccupied with chasing down a bard and tried the open a portal so she could get out of this fucking town. Geralt was lying in the glass coffin, looking completely dead to the world, fast asleep. He looked peaceful but she knew this wasn’t a real sleep. The villagers had changed his clothes for the ritual and he was wearing a soft white outfit with flowers embroidered on the hem. He looked nice, Yennefer had to admit. 

A portal opened and she began to push the coffin through it. Then the bard tripped on his flight out of the reach of the villagers, turns out skirts were not the best for high speed pursuits and one villager turned back believing the others could take care of the annoyance. 

“Stop right there!” a man yelled at Yennefer just as she pushed the last of the coffin through the portal.

Fuck.

“Bard!” she cried out, time to go. She wanted to at least attempt to keep him alive. 

Unfortunately, the bard was currently getting the shit kicked out of him by the villagers. Yennefer sighed, did she have to do everything herself? She sent out a wave of magic that sent the villagers flying off of the bard and gave him time to sit up. He got to his feet quickly and gathered the dress in one hand and held out his lute like a weapon in the other. 

He ran through the thin crowd, swinging his lute like a club, hitting flower-adorned villagers with it left and right. Yennefer marveled that it wasn’t broken. He answered that question once he got to Yennefer’s side, breathing hard.

“Unbreakable Elven lute, comes in handy sometimes,” he said.

Yennefer just rolled her eyes and dragged him through the portal, closing it behind them. He was so theatrical.

She hadn’t brought them far, just to an empty field she had walked through on the way to Beauclair. It was a few hours away so they had time to wake Geralt up.

Earlier that day, her and the bard had grabbed their supplies and sent them ahead so there was a horse with a pack tied to a tree nearby. 

Now the two of them sat looking at the glass coffin with the Witcher inside. 

“Help me lift this,” Yennefer said and then her and the bard were able to uncover the coffin and now Geralt’s sleeping face was bared to the world.

“He looks peaceful like this,” the bard said. “Less angry.”

Yennefer elected not to let him know she had been thinking the same things. She began casting some diagnostic spells, trying to determine what kind of curse this was. 

Meanwhile the bard was making himself absolutely useless and was attempting to wake Geralt up by shaking him, slapping him and generally telling him to wake up. Yennefer saw the bard was about to lift Geralt up and put a stop to it.

“He won’t wake from natural means you idiot. He’s under a curse.”

The bard stepped away, “Ah.”

“Yes, now give me a moment and I might be able to break it.”

After another moment of concentration Yennefer had her answer. She had to stop herself from groaning.

“It’s a true love curse,” she said at last.

“No,” the bard said, “like in the stories? Oh yes, I am making a song out of this.”

Then the bard thought about it some more, “Oh shit. Where do we find Geralt’s true love? We can’t exactly ask every maiden in the kingdom to come by, and maybe Geralt has a secret lover? I mean, I suppose for me there is the Countess de Stael, who took me back for the record-”

Yennefer held up a hand, “Shut up for just one moment. Magic can’t measure the amount of love or determine soulmates or whatever rot you’ve heard. It can simply tell intent. So all one of use has to do is kiss Geralt with the intent in mind of waking him up.”

Simultaneously, they look at Geralt, then look back at each other. 

The bard laughs and moves away, “Ah, no thank you, I think this honor should go to you.”

Of course it would. The bard busies himself by going over to the horse and checking supplies and Yennefer heads over to Geralt. She might as well get it over with, she leans down and kisses him on the lips chastely, focusing on waking this bastard up.

His lips are cold and unmoving as stone and it is extremely unpleasant. She pulls back just in time for his eyes to flutter open and he looks up at her.

His eyes come into focus and then he looks confused, “Yennefer?”

Geralt sits up, looking at the clothes he is wearing, he plucks at the whie fabric gently, “What the fuck am I wearing?”

Then the bard comes back, arms laden with Geralt’s armor which he unceremoniously dumps into a pile inside the coffin. 

“Something awful,” the bard says. 

Geralt looks over the bard’s torn flower-adorned dress, “You are not one to talk, Jaskier.”

Yennefer looks over at the bard, at Jaskier, and snorts, “I think it’s a very fetching look.”

Geralt begins to take off the white clothes and change into his armor. Jaskier helps him with the difficult to reach buckles and straps, Yennefer watches from the side. 

“What happened?” Geralt asks.

“You were almost a participant in a human sacrifice ritual in Beauclair, I suppose to likely have a better flower harvest next year or some other nonsense. Luckily, I was passing through town.”

Jaskier cuts in, “You mean, lucky I dragged you into that alley.”

Yennefer felt her patience thinning, “Yes, lucky I was there to stop you from killing yourself in an attempt to rescue this idiot. 

Jaskier shrugged, “to each their own version of the truth,” he said. 

Then Geralt had his armor back on at last and left the white clothes sitting on the glass coffin in the middle of the field before turning to Yennefer, “Thank you, do you need anything in payment?”

Yennefer shook her head, “Consider it compensation for Rinde,” she said, “You saved my life now I’ve saved yours. My debt is paid.”

He gave her a look then told her that if the bard was not there he might attempt to remind her of Rinde in other ways but unfortunately Jaskier was there, staring at the two of them and Geralt nodded before turning to his horse. 

He mounted the animal before beginning to trot off, the bard walking alongside him, chatting about all the possibilities for his next song. 

Yennefer was left standing in the field, thinking about how once more the Witcher was leaving her behind, off to the next adventure. She wondered if she would ever see him again. It wasn’t exactly a small continent but they were both travelers. She found herself strangely looking forward to their next encounter and whatever adventure that might bring. 

A few months later she sat in a tavern and had to stop herself from laughing as she heard a bard playing a new song from Jaskier entitled, “A Flower in Bloom.” It told the story of a fair maiden with hair as white as snow who was whisked away to be sacrificed to an elder god by her cruel family who were jealous of her beauty. Then, a dark knight appears to save her but in order to do so he must wake her from the enchanted sleep that can only be broken by true love’s kiss. Yennefer was sure Geralt approved of this song most full-heartedly. 

At least the description of the dark knight as, “A force of nature onto themself, a maelstrom of power and darkness, seeking out a soul to match its own,” wasn’t too bad. Although she could do without the implication, she and Geralt were fated for each other. True love. What a load of bullshit

## 4\. 

She looked at Geralt’s neck and laughed. She couldn’t help it. 

“That is some of the worst craftsmanship I have ever seen,” she said. 

Geralt grumbled but didn’t say anything against it. She supposed he knew it was true. Of course, he had met with Triss earlier and she had offered to remove it but he had declined, saying he liked the reminder of his kinship with the Blue Stripes. He had friends now in the Temerian Special Forces and liked the reminder of the connections he had. Well, he might be regretting that decision to keep this little reminder as Yennefer cackled. 

“It was supposed to be you,” he said at last, a little mulishly. 

Yennefer looked closely at the tattoo on his neck, the naked woman with a sword standing behind a shield. Crosses hung around the figure like they were added on as an afterthought. For a moment, she looked at though she was contemplating. Then she began laughing again. 

“Only you Geralt,” Yennefer said, “Only you could black-out and wake up to a neck tattoo and refuse to get it removed based on pride.”

The bard in her corner spoke up at last, “Which is why I brought him here. Heard you were in town and he can’t go on with that...monstrosity on his neck.”

Yennefer has no idea how the bard had tracked her down. She was staying in Kovir for the month, having gotten a contract with a noble to do some warding and in exchange she was staying in the palace grounds. It was a wonderful set-up and she had not been expecting to be interrupted by a bard dragging a reluctant Witcher behind him demanding that Yennefer remove Geralt’s awful tattoo. 

She was tempted to just magic it off straight away but decided to give Geralt at least the illusion of agency and was currently trying to convince him that having a neck tattoo was not a good decision. 

“Look, Geralt, if you like the tattoo so much I could try changing its location,” Yennefer said at least. Getting him to consent removing the tattoo was a losing battle and if nothing else she wanted it off her neck. 

The last thing she wanted was a naked rendition of herself staring at her everytime she kissed the Witcher. 

“Fine,” Geralt agreed at last, and Yennefer sighed in relief. 

Thank every god in the sky. Geralt could be terribly difficult to convince at times. 

“Alright then, where would you like the tattoo to be moved to?” she asked.

“Can I suggest a discreet place?” Shouted Jaskier from the corner.

“Can I suggest silence?” Yennefer cried back.

“I suppose the thigh,” Geralt said.

Yennefer made a noise of agreement before muttering a spell in elder and watching as the tattoo traveled from Geralt’s neck to the side of his left thigh. There, now he could have his bond of friendship and brotherhood and not have it be all-too-glaring on his neck. 

Jaskier came up, swinging his arm around Geralt, “See? Now was that so hard.” He booped Geralt on the nose, “Now that I know how much of a fan you are of tattoos, what do you say to matching ones? A lute and a wolf? A rose?”

The Witcher pushed Jaskier off of him and stood up, “Thank you Yennefer, as always, you did not have to.”

Yennefer smiled, “Oh I know but at this point I just like having you in my debt, it’s an electric feeling.”

Geralt leaned closer to her, “Perhaps soon I’ll save you once more and have you in my debt.”

Jaskier groaned, “Still here you two.”

Yennefer pulled back and asked the two of them if they would like to stay for dinner. As he most often did, Geralt declined and told Yennefer that there was a contract further south he wanted to take and they should get on the road as soon as possible. 

Just another fleeting point of contact, a brush of their lives together. Their destinies touched and then left once more. They were not together, not traditionally but they couldn’t escape each other. The two of them were always pulled into each other’s orbit despite their actions. Eventually they would always find each other and Yennefer wondered once more as to the why, the how. She wondered if there would ever be a time where their destiny wasn’t simply connected by a thread but built together. 

She also knew it would never happen. They would have to take that step themselves, not merely rely on a series of coincidences and she wasn’t sure if she could do that. If she could ever allow herself to trust in another person so completely. 

## 5\. 

Yennefer turns to the side and watches Geralt. For now, he is staying, for now, he has no where else to go. 

“Do you hurt?” She asks, “I don't mean physical pain. They say witchers can't feel human emotion.”

She wants to know, needs to know if what they have is real, if it is based on love or if to Geralt, she is no better than a free whore. She has seen emotion in his eyes but she wonders if it is for her, if he yearns for her as she yearns for him, pushed together. 

He scoffs, “They say whatever justifies despising our kind.”

Another non-answer, “Huh. Do you regret it?” She tries instead. “Becoming a witcher?”

Again, she is trying to ask him if they would be together, if they would have found each other in different circumstances. Would they have fallen together if he were not a Witcher and her not a mage? What is it that draws them together? What brings them together? 

“It's hard to regret something you didn't choose.”

Yennefer pushes, needing to understand, wanting an answer she knows Geralt will never give, “But if the choice had been yours, what would you have done instead? A farmer? A stableman?”

“Horses are good company.” Geralt says after a long pause, “But if I ever dreamed of being something...other... than what I am...it was too long ago to remember.”

He is caught in his own memories and she finds herself drawn into her own. Of days living in a barn, cut off from the rest of society. Hidden away. So long, more than a lifetime now. 

Geral interrupts her musings, “Did you dream of being a mage?”

Yennefer laughs, “I didn't have much of a choice either.”

Now Geralt is pushing the conversation, “Did you always want to become a mother?”

“I dreamed...of becoming important to someone. Someday”

What she doesn’t say is that she hopes she is important to him. That their encounters have become more than just meaningless. That she means something to him as he means something to her and that they are now intertwined into something greater. She hopes that their love has meaning. She hopes that their love has purpose. 

Geralt responds with a grunt and Yennefer ignores the pain at this apparent dismissal.

“Do I bore you?” she says.

“Not at all,” he replies. “Before we met, the days were calm...and the nights were restless. But now... you're important to me.”

He falls asleep and then Yennefer is alone in the realm of the waking. For a moment she is taken aback and tries to hide the surprise in her eyes as she watches his yellow eyes close. Never had Geralt been so succinct with his thoughts, never had they spoken those words aloud.

_You are important to me._

Had she ever been important to anyone before? Had there ever been a person who relied on her, who needed her? She was on a precipice of trust. She could tumble over it and let herself fall truly into love with this man, this Witcher. Yennefer didn’t know if she could handle it if the sea swallowed her up and drowned. If she was hurt by Geralt could she ever recover? Never had she opened her heart before to another in such a way and it was the most dangerous game she could play yet. 

Yennefer reached across the bed to lay a hand on Geralt’s cheek. His stubble felt rough against the light brush of her hand and she found herself thinking, _I could love this man_ . Another part of her said, _you already are_. 

Fuck. How could she have been so stupid? She pushed past Jaskier and kept moving, away from Geralt, away from his lies. 

_A child is no way to boost your fragile ego, Yen._

_The sorceress will never regain her womb._

_And though you didn't want to lose her, Geralt, you will._

He fucking lost her alright. Yennefer felt angry tears falling down her cheeks. She wanted to control them but couldn’t stop herself from reliving that moment over and over again. This entire time. This entire fucking time nothing they had done together had been real. It was all just a ploy from destiny herself. 

Nothing had been real. Every time they were together it was because of some sick fucking wish Geralt had made. The worst part? He had known. He had known magic had twisted her emotions, twisted her thoughts up inside and he had done nothing. 

It was unlikely at this point that the Djinn was still manipulating their emotions. Magic wasn’t meant to influence for decades. However, it likely had twisted their destinies together making it so long after the emotions faded they would still meet again and again and again. 

It was almost worse, knowing her emotions were her own. She had fallen in love with Geralt and the whole time he had been keeping this secret. He had believed their love based on fiction, based on magic and he had still stayed with her. He had allowed him to fall into bed with her knowing their desires might not be their own. Fuck. She let out a gasping sob. She couldn’t fucking do this. Not right now. 

She portaled to her long-abandoned home in Vengerberg. Her parent’s old home that she had kept as a safe-house for decades. She tore through the trunks of old books, needing searching for the right tome. 

There. She grabbed a worn green leather book and wrenched it open, looking for the right ritual. 

Yennefer grabbed the ingredients from the storeroom, she got out the chalk and began drawing. 

She hadn’t seen it necessary to conduct a cleansing ritual in decades. She hadn’t been exposed to any harmful magic but now that she knew about Geralt’s wish? Yennefer was going to cleave their destinies or die trying. 

She began chanting and the moment the words began leaving her lips the pain began. It was not physical pain but a mental one, tearing at her heart and ripping into her very soul, attacking her, trying to push her away from her course of actions. The wish did not want to be undone. Still, Yennefer persevered. She would not be bound by any man. 

Then, the world exploded and she could see the threads of destiny in the air around her. The golden threads, connecting, weaving. She sensed more than saw her and Geralt’s thread, she saw the magic binding them together. Yennefer grew angry but kept her control. She pried the threads apart with sheer force of will and suddenly as soon as they were apart she felt a sense of relief. 

The djinn’s magic broke and the world returned to gray as the golden threads of destiny left. 

She sat there, shivering in the wreck of her childhood home, the ashes of ritual surrounding her and tears still crying. Because the Djinn's magic was gone. She could feel it now, the absence of that pulling force calling her to Geralt. The lack of urgency and need. But it still hurt, she was still crying. 

Because in the end, she couldn't escape it. The Djinn hadn’t worked its magic on her heart, no, that had been all her. 

Fuck. 

She still loved him. 

This time, Geralt had left her not physically but emotionally. He had left her vulnerable and alone and in the dark and all she could do was cry and scream in the rotting corpse of her children. Why was he always leaving?

## +1 

After Sodden Hill, Yennefer had awoken to find herself back home once more. She was in the wreckage of her parent’s home. She was burned and her magic was practically gone, exhausted beyond belief but she was alive. She let out a gasping laugh. She had survived the Nilfgaardian army. 

But what now? She was in no stage to fight, had no allies to turn to. There was no one left. 

She looked around the empty house, saw her stockpile of magic preserved in a corner but saw the rotting shell of a home around it. A determination began to grow within her. If she had no home to live in, she would create one for herself. 

It was simple to head into Vengerberg proper and ask for supplies. It had been decades since she had last been into the city and there was no risk of anyone recognizing her. She dressed down in a simple cloak, shirt and breeches, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. 

She had a cart with a horse to pull it in short order and filled the cart up with lumber, tools, furniture. There would be more trips to come, she was sure, but this was merely the beginning. 

It was not a simple task, rebuilding the house with little use of magic. She could move large pieces of wood and stone without difficulty but couldn’t cast the restoration spells that would save her all this work. Yennefer was alone in the house, rebuilding it slowly and it took time. 

But each stone placed, each beam laid felt like she was building something for herself at last. She didn’t need to be validated by another. She didn’t require subjects or lovers or even a child. Yennefer finally felt in control as she built her new home. 

In the end, the home was small. It was a single story with three bedrooms, a sitting area in front of a fireplace, and a dining area. The walls were stone at the bottom and wood up top. The ceilings were arched and open. On the outside, it looked like an unassuming cottage. Just as she liked it. She had very few visitors and was glad of it. 

The walls were difficult to see through the numerous shelves she had placed along it. She filled it with what she loved but had left behind in her search for power. Books of poetry, writing, songs, and tales filled the walls. There was a greenhouse outback with any number of plants she tended to with care. She had a horse in the stables she would go riding on. 

It had been a few months since the Battle of Sodden Hill and Yennefer was hiding in Vengerberg. She was home. She had made this her home. 

She was not expecting a knock on her door late one night. Summer was ending and autumn was coming ever closer. The wind was cold but Yennefer’s heart when she opened the door to see Geralt of fucking Rivia was even colder. 

How dare he. 

Then, she saw a young girl hiding behind him. She was young, perhaps twelve years old with long white hair. Yennefer looked at Geralt properly and saw how tired, how worn out he looked. He wasn’t wearing any armor, just a simple black shirt and pants. There were rings under his eyes and his hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks. There was a pleading in his eyes Yennefer was unfamiliar with. She didn’t like to see it on him. It was unsettling. 

Still, she couldn’t let this child suffer so she opened the door, allowing them in, “Did anyone follow you?” She said. 

Geralt shook his head, “We lost Nilfgaard days ago, we couldn’t risk bringing them here.”

She nodded, “Good. Now explain.”

Geralt gave a rambling explanation of Cirilla and him escaping from Nilfgaard, their racing away from the encroaching army, her uncontrollable powers, their destiny. In the end, Yennefer laughs, “Any you come to me?” She asks. 

By now, Geralt is sitting on the edge of one of her couches. He is holding a mug of tea and Cirilla is pressed up against him, wrapped in a blanket, sleeping.

He looks up at her and his eyes are desperate, “You are the only one who can help.” He says, “Ciri needs a teacher.”

Then, Geralt’s voice drops and Yennefer can barely hear him when he says, “and a mother.”

Anger fills her and she takes a seat beside Geralt and raises his chin up so he is looking her in the eyes. His yellow eyes meet her own and they are wide with fright.

“You do not get to ask that of me,” she says, “not after everything you’ve done.”

She turns away from him now, looking at the fire in the hearth. In the end, it is late, she is tired, and Cirilla needs her help.

“I’ll teach her.” Yennefer says at last, “But I can’t be her mother. You will have to stay to take care of her. I am not her minder.”

Geralt readily agrees but Yennefer prepares for the day when he leaves. He always fucking leaves. 

It comes as a surprise then when he stays. He stays through the Autumn after the leaves change colors and the first snow falls. Yennefer grows to love Ciri. She has a bright, inquisitive mind and a strong spirit. Yennefer and she spend long hours in the greenhouse tending to her plants and Ciri listens as Yennefer explains the uses of them in various potions. 

Geralt stays as she reads stories to Ciri next to the fire late at night. He tends to the horses and Yennefer remembers another conversation when he tells her horses are good company and she wondered if they could have been happy in a simpler life. Now they seem to be living a simpler life. They are together, alone, with a child. Take away the threat of Nilfgaard and it seems like domestic bliss. 

Yet, Yennefer has still not forgiven Geralt. How can she? When he kept his secret for years, never telling her that their love might not be their own? It burned at her. 

But Geralt never pushed her. He never once asked for forgiveness and most days he spent training in the growing snow and reading books from her library. 

It wasn’t until nearly the New Year that Yennefer finally decided to talk to Geralt. She approached him after Ciri had gone to sleep, the night was open and the stars were bright. 

He was standing outside, looking up at the night sky. Yennefer stood beside him.

“What do you see?” She asked.

“I see stories.” Geralt said, “My mother used to tell me that each star held the soul of a hero. She would tell me the stories of these heroes. I always aspired to be a knight. A true hero.”

“Do you believe you have lived up to those aspirations.”

Geralt gave a wry chuckle, barely there, hardly humorous, “I doubt it.”

Yennefer then turned Geralt to look at her and placed her hand on his chest. She felt his heart beating so slowly beneath her hand. 

“You know the best heroes always fall before the rise once more.”

His face cracks and he turns away from her, “Yen,” he starts and he hasn’t called her that the entire time he has been here with her, “I can’t apologize enough, I should have told you, I shouldn’t have continued what we had. I should have stopped. I know what we feel isn’t real but I will resist, I won’t push. I will find a way to break the Djinn’s magic I promise.”

Yennefer shook her head, “I already have. I broke it after the dragon hunt. We are no longer tied together. Didn’t you wonder why it was so difficult to find me? There was no more destiny leading you along.”

“If there is no wish, then why do I-”

Geralt cuts off, but Yennefer knows what he is about to say. She is thinking the same. _Why do I still love you?_

For a moment she thinks about going inside, leaving the conversation there, and ending it. But she perseveres. 

“I feel the same,” she says at last, “it appears the Djinn simply manipulated our fates, not our emotions.”

Geralt is silent. Yennefer looks into his eyes and then at once, they lean into each other. 

This kiss is entirely different than any they have shared before. There is no urgency, no sense of need. It is tentative and soft and real. Geralt is pliant under her touch and he leans into her. They pull away, the kiss being brief. It was an exploration of how they felt without their destinies tied together. 

“That was real,” Geralt said.

“It was,” Yennefer said. 

They then sit there, under the stars, simply being with each other, for each other. 

The next day brings worrying news. Jaskier is at their door. Apparently, he had spent the past few months infiltrating the Nilfgaardian courts and he had heard that they were coming for Cirilla in Vengerberg. Luckily one person is faster than a contingent and he had come as quickly as he was able to warn them. 

They had rushed to pack and saddled up their three horses and the four of them set out as rapidly as they could from Vengerberg. 

“Where can we go?” Cirilla asked Geralt. She had come a long way in the past few months and now had better control over her magic than ever but was only just beginning her training when it came to swords. 

Geralt gained a grim look on his face, “We will have to head north to Kaer Morhen.”

“Kaer Morhen!” Jaskier cried, “the snow is far too deep, we can’t make it up the pass.”

The Witcher shook his head, “There’s a path that leads behind the keep that we can take. It will be dangerous but it can be done. Nilfgaard won’t reach us there.”

Yennefer nodded then as a group they began to head to the School of the Wolf. She looked over at Geralt and caught his eye. This time, they were staying together. 

##    
  
  



End file.
